Chapter One
Man Law: Never mess with your best friend’s sister.
"Ah, shit." Vic Andrews, butthead supreme, listened to
the churn of the ocean’s waves. Or was it his life
skittering off its axis?
Gina laughed that belly laugh of hers and he couldn’t
help smiling. He extracted himself from her lush little body
and rolled off. The St. Barth sand stuck to his back. Yep,
they’d worked up a sweat. Salty sea air invaded his nostrils
and he inhaled, letting the moisture flood his system.
Jesus Hotel Christ.
What had he been thinking? He’d been heading back to his
room after closing down the resort’s bar and there she was,
the girl—er, woman—of his dreams, crying on the
beach. No condition for her to be in after witnessing her
brother’s marriage to the love of his life.
Vic didn’t mention the fact it was 3:00 a.m. and she was
alone on a secluded beach where any drunken asshole, like
him, could have at her. Although technically he wasn’t
drunk. Buzzed maybe. Big difference. Besides, they’d been at
a wedding. Buzzed was allowed.
Gina moved and he finally turned toward her. "I’m—"
"No, absolutely not," she said. She swiped at her curly
mane of dark hair. Her face gave away nothing, but that
meant squat. Gina knew how to hide bad moods.
The whoosh of the ocean lapping against the shore
distracted him and he stared into the blackness.
"What did I say?" he asked.
"You were going to apologize. I don’t want to hear it."
Apologize? Him? "I’m not sorry." He touched her arm. "Are
you?"
Please don’t say you’re sorry. Please.
That would be all he needed. He’d just freakin’
obliterated the sister rule Mike had invoked nearly a
million—maybe two million—times. The sister rule
was Man Law, and Man Laws were about the only rules Vic
followed.
He only wanted to check on her, and before he knew it,
voila, the clothes were off, the condom was on and they were
humping like bunnies right there on the beach. At least no
one saw them. All the well-meaning people were asleep.
Gina brushed sand from her legs and stood to straighten
the sliplike dress he’d shoved up over her hips. The silky
fabric glided over her curves, and the activity in Vic’s
lower region made him groan. A thirty-five year-old mother
of three, and she was killing him. He should be ashamed.
Screw that.
She was right there. Right there. And, because he’d
probably never get the opportunity again, he should grab her
and—
"I’m not sorry," Gina said. "Not about the sex. I’m sorry
about other things, but this, I loved."
Vic retrieved his pants and stood. Gina and her honesty.
Good or bad, she just put it out there and didn’t worry
about the repercussions. He guessed it came from losing her
husband at the age of thirty-one. She had nothing to lose.
"I need to go," she said, watching him with her big brown
eyes as the moonlight drenched her face. He put his shirt
on. Did she have to look at him that way? Particularly when
he wanted a replay.
"Aren’t the kids bunking with your folks?"
"They are, but you know how Matthew is. He might search
for me."
Fifteen-year-old Matt, her eldest son, took his job as
man of the family seriously.
"Right. Okay." Vic motioned toward the resort. "I’ll walk
you."
Gina held up a hand. "I’ll be fine."
Nuh-uh. No way. "I am going to walk you. It’s late and
you shouldn’t go by yourself."
Hell, she shouldn’t have been out here alone in the first
place, but he knew she’d tear him a few new ones if he said it.
She stood there, peering up at him
and—God—she was fantastic. She had a classic
oval face with high cheekbones and a nose he knew she hated.
For over two years now he’d imagined running his finger over
the little bump in it, but never dared. Every inch of her
seemed perfectly imperfect.
Blown sister rule.
Gina shoved her fingers through her curls. "We screwed
up. I can’t believe it. We’ve been so good."
"We didn’t screw up. We had a simultaneous brain fart.
Again."
She laughed and shook her head.
"Anyway, walk me to the edge of the beach. You can see my
room from there and can watch me go up."
"Gina, what’s the big deal? Nobody will know we
just—" he waved his hand, "—you know."
"It’ll be better if you don’t walk me. With his mental
radar, Michael is probably waiting by the door. On his
damned wedding night. I swear he’s a freak. He should stay
out of it."
Oh, boy. She was getting fired up. Maintenance mode. His
friend needed protection. They were both ex-special ops, but
they didn’t stand a chance against all five foot three of Gina.
"Mike loves you. He’s trying to protect you."
"From you? You’re his best friend."
Vic ran his hands over her shoulders. "Yeah, but I’m not
right for you."
"The circumstances aren’t right. That’s true, but he
doesn’t have to keep reminding me."
"He does it to me too."
They strolled to the edge of the beach, and he squeezed
her hand. Don’t go. Just stay for a while. All he wanted was
more time with her. Not a lot to ask.
On tiptoes, she brushed a kiss over his lips. A little
hum escaped his throat. What the hell was that?
"I had a great time," she said. "You were just what I
needed."
"I think a ‘but’ is coming."
"We can’t do this again."
Yep. Not good. "I know."
She pulled her hand from his and hauled ass toward her
room. Away from him.